


we’re all just disasters in the making

by welcometothemeatshack



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Daddy Kink, Face Slapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometothemeatshack/pseuds/welcometothemeatshack
Summary: It's the third time he carefully climbs out of bed that Dean speaks up.





	we’re all just disasters in the making

It's the third time he carefully climbs out of bed that Dean speaks up.

"Seth," he grumbles, voice deep with exhaustion and sleep. Seth can see his brows drawn together, expression pouty and annoyed in the little bit of moonlight that illuminates their hotel room. "Get your ass back in bed and keep it here." His fingers fumble with the thick comforter, lifting Seth's side of it in sleepy demand.

Seth bounces lightly on the balls of his feet, staying where he is as he first tugs Dean's hoodie over his head, then steps into the jogging pants he'd discarded earlier and slips on his own sneakers. "I can't sleep," he says, tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh, the muscles beneath working as he resumes his bouncing.

"You don't say," snarks Dean, opening one eye only to offer a sleep-softened half-glare. "This is the third time you've gotten up.”

A uncomfortable curl of guilt coils low in his belly. He rasps out a quiet, "Sorry." Then, "I didn't think I woke you up the other times.”

Dean inhales heavily and forces himself up into a sitting position, his back against the remaining two pillows propped on the headboard (the rest he'd thrown unapologetically across the room). "Only woke up when you closed the door the first time," he says, voice muffled as he scrubs his hands roughly over his face, rubbing at his eyes, trying to wake up a bit more. "Woke up when you pushed my arm off you the second time so you could get up." He lifts tired eyes to Seth's wide-open ones, clear blue meeting dark brown. "What's up, sweetheart?”

The pet name does it; it always does, Seth (and, consequently, Dean) has found. He quits bouncing on his feet, twists his fingers together and wrings them instead. "I don't _know_ ," he finally replies, lost and frustrated. Dean hums, eyes taking in Seth's hands, the way he can't stop moving them and fidgeting under Deans's gaze. Seth twists his fingers tighter, stomach clenching. "I just- I feel like there's something crawling under my skin," he says finally, obviously struggling to find the right words. "Like there's something there and no matter what I do, I can't get it to go away.”

Dean's brow furrows, the little dent between his eyebrows more pronounced in the shadows the moonlight shining through the window throws over the room. He watches as Seth continues to fidget, going back to bouncing on his heels, his eyes darting anxiously around the room, the way cornered animals' do. Finally, Dean makes a call, decision easy when Seth's clear inner upset causes his breath to hitch. “C’mere," he says, evenly. "Take those back off, and come here." Seth looks like he want to argue, at first, and Dean prepares himself for one of _those_ nights, mentally going through what Seth might need from him right now in terms of punishment, until Seth shifts, his arms lifting hesitantly to tug off the hoodie, slowly. Dean waits him out, well-familiar with the inner workings of Seth's brain, the need to thoroughly process before reacting until Dean stops him from having to think for himself at all. Once everything has been removed, Dean pushes Seth's side of the comforter back down and pats the mattress, a clear direction that Seth takes, climbing unsteadily on the bed and laying on his back, eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he watches Dean shift to lean over him. Dean’s warm palm cups Seth’s jaw, callus-rough thumb scrubbing lightly over the younger man’s sharp cheekbone. “Hey.”

Seth digs his thumbnail into Dean’s hip. “Hi.”

Lifting one eyebrow, Dean removes his hand and props himself up with it, stretching to reach the switch for the hotel’s bedside lamp, throwing light over them, the dimmest setting just bright enough for them to see the other’s face. Dean sits back up and moves his hand to take hold of Seth’s at his hip, intertwining their fingers. Seth is silent, fingers of his free hand still moving, tapping against the sheet, as he stares up at Dean. “You wanna talk?” It isn’t often that Dean offers to just _talk_ , but when he does, it’s always to this Seth, to the Seth who can’t seem to quiet his own mind, to the Seth who looks so vulnerable that it squeezes Dean’s heart like nothing else has ever come close to.  
  
For a few moments, the only sound is their breathing - calm and deep from Dean, shaky and erratic from Seth - and then Seth shakes his head, only a little cautious, and moves, his other hand finally stopping its continuous tapping and reaching for Dean’s, tangling the fingers of those hands together like their mates before he shifts down on the bed, head settling on a pillow and hair flaring out, raising their joined hands up above his own head, pressing them back into the pillow and squeezing Dean’s hands in a silent request and- _Ah_ , Dean can do that for him, for even this gentler and somehow more fragile version of his Seth, if he needs it.  
  
“Alright, baby,” murmurs Dean, leaning in and nosing at Seth’s cheek for a moment of indulgence before he leans back, smoothing his thumbs over Seth’s before he extricates his fingers from the younger man’s grip. Seth’s brow furrows just enough for Dean to know how the rest of this night is going to go, before Dean grasps Seth’s wrists, moving them to cross over his head, left-over-right, and pressing them down, grip tight and unyielding as he says, “They don’t move,” before he releases them, leaving Seth to obey or disobey as he chooses.  
  
A struggle plays across Seth’s face for a fleeting second and Dean knows he was right in guessing how the night will play out.  
  
Seth’s fingers twitch just before his hand moves and ,almost simultaneously, a sharp slap of sound fills the room.  
  
Seth’s dark eyes are closed now, shadows of his ridiculous eyelashes splayed down his cheekbones, just kissing the pink mark on Seth’s cheek. Seth is breathing hard and Dean’s fingers are tingling, though it had been just a light tap, a gentle reprimand before Seth pushes too far, a warning. Dean’s hard between Seth’s thighs and he knows Seth’s own cock is, too, because Seth is _perfect_ and just as fucked up as Dean is, in only the best and most beautiful ways, and-  
  
“What did I just say, little boy?”  
  
And _God_ , it’s so fucked up, so _wrong_ , but when Seth finally opens his eyes, pupils blown wide and even darker than his gorgeous brown irises, when he mumbles a quiet and timid _sorry,_ _Daddy_ Dean can’t help the shiver that tingles from his spine throughout the rest of his body. “Be a good boy, princess, and let Daddy take care of you, yeah, baby?”  
  
Seth’s breath hitches, a sob cut off, and his hands clench into fists before his left arm deliberately jerks from position.  
  
_smack!_  
  
A heaving inhale, a gushed exhale, Seth’s cheek a bright red, Dean’s heart racing. It’s silent still, for just a moment, then Seth’s entire body shudders beneath Dean and just goes _limp_. Dean frowns at the sudden quickness of it, at the way Seth just _gives_ _into_ _it_ instead of fighting it more; he’s let himself get too wrapped up in his own head, in everything, if he’s like this so easily and so soon, and so Dean quickly adjusts and changes his game plan.  
  
“That’s it, sweetheart.” Seth’s lips part as he whimpers, the gentle words floating in his ears. “Just relax for me, baby, and I’ll give you what you need. You know I will, don’t you?” Brown eyes are unfocused and half-lidded, sliding slowly around the room, over Dean’s face. Dean reaches up and gives Seth’s reddened cheek another tap, sharp enough to grab his boy’s attention. “Give me words, Seth. Let me know you’re with me, baby, and tell me what you want.” Dean’s still hard, fully now, the length of his cock now nestled against Seth’s inner thigh, but he remains still.  
  
It takes Seth a full minute to settle his eyes on Dean, a few more seconds for his lips to part in a hoarse _please_ , _Daddy_ and fuck if that doesn’t make Dean’s cock twitch. He breathes out heavily, tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he cups Seth’s hot cheek in his palm. “No, baby doll.” Seth’s breath hitches, a frown furrowing his brow, as though he’s unable to comprehend what he’s done wrong and Dean leans down to nudge his nose against his boy’s, just to see the airy smile it elicits. “Tell Daddy what you want, princess, and it’s yours.”  
  
“Wan’…” It’s difficult for him to string words together like this, Dean knows, so he digs deep for the patience he only implements with Seth, with this gentle and soft Seth, humming encouragement when Seth looks dazedly up at him. “Wan’… please?” His left hand, still out-of-position, sluggishly moves to grip loosely at the wrist of Dean’s right.

“ _Please_.”


End file.
